Poems
David O’Neil
The bodies of soldiersCome floating down the riverTo the green sea,Rich in amber,Waiting to embalm them;All is splendid silenceIn this pageantry of wanton gloryAwedBy the setting sun.
The bodies of soldiersCome floating down the riverTo the green sea,Rich in amber,Waiting to embalm them;All is splendid silenceIn this pageantry of wanton gloryAwedBy the setting sun.
The bodies of soldiersCome floating down the riverTo the green sea,Rich in amber,Waiting to embalm them;All is splendid silenceIn this pageantry of wanton gloryAwedBy the setting sun.
The bodies of soldiers
Come floating down the river
To the green sea,
Rich in amber,
Waiting to embalm them;
All is splendid silence
In this pageantry of wanton glory
Awed
By the setting sun.
In this terror of blood-spilling lust,Why throw it in a ditch,This boy’s beautiful body,When his spirit might rise like steam from the soupAnd stir the live ones to vengeance?Disease will deter you?Ah, but boil it wellAnd the thought will give it a spice.Cannibalism, you say?Why stop when you have gone so far?He that diedWould rather his bodyGave life to his fellows,Than be trampled over,Shot over,Shoveled like offal away.Why throw it in a ditch?
In this terror of blood-spilling lust,Why throw it in a ditch,This boy’s beautiful body,When his spirit might rise like steam from the soupAnd stir the live ones to vengeance?Disease will deter you?Ah, but boil it wellAnd the thought will give it a spice.Cannibalism, you say?Why stop when you have gone so far?He that diedWould rather his bodyGave life to his fellows,Than be trampled over,Shot over,Shoveled like offal away.Why throw it in a ditch?
In this terror of blood-spilling lust,Why throw it in a ditch,This boy’s beautiful body,When his spirit might rise like steam from the soupAnd stir the live ones to vengeance?Disease will deter you?Ah, but boil it wellAnd the thought will give it a spice.Cannibalism, you say?Why stop when you have gone so far?He that diedWould rather his bodyGave life to his fellows,Than be trampled over,Shot over,Shoveled like offal away.Why throw it in a ditch?
In this terror of blood-spilling lust,
Why throw it in a ditch,
This boy’s beautiful body,
When his spirit might rise like steam from the soup
And stir the live ones to vengeance?
Disease will deter you?
Ah, but boil it well
And the thought will give it a spice.
Cannibalism, you say?
Why stop when you have gone so far?
He that died
Would rather his body
Gave life to his fellows,
Than be trampled over,
Shot over,
Shoveled like offal away.
Why throw it in a ditch?
I see captured shot-rent flagsDancing with the wind,Flying high to glory.Why not anchor themWith a pyramid of bones,Those of our own men?It would tellOf the price that was paidTo have these flags here,Whipping in the wind.
I see captured shot-rent flagsDancing with the wind,Flying high to glory.Why not anchor themWith a pyramid of bones,Those of our own men?It would tellOf the price that was paidTo have these flags here,Whipping in the wind.
I see captured shot-rent flagsDancing with the wind,Flying high to glory.Why not anchor themWith a pyramid of bones,Those of our own men?It would tellOf the price that was paidTo have these flags here,Whipping in the wind.
I see captured shot-rent flags
Dancing with the wind,
Flying high to glory.
Why not anchor them
With a pyramid of bones,
Those of our own men?
It would tell
Of the price that was paid
To have these flags here,
Whipping in the wind.
Our son Jack,Wild with life,Went throughWhen law and natureSaid, “Go around.”Thus he died.
Our son Jack,Wild with life,Went throughWhen law and natureSaid, “Go around.”Thus he died.
Our son Jack,Wild with life,Went throughWhen law and natureSaid, “Go around.”Thus he died.
Our son Jack,
Wild with life,
Went through
When law and nature
Said, “Go around.”
Thus he died.
Gaunt,Stripped of leaves,Death-defiant,Yet triumphantIn this thought:There is nothing more to lose.
Gaunt,Stripped of leaves,Death-defiant,Yet triumphantIn this thought:There is nothing more to lose.
Gaunt,Stripped of leaves,Death-defiant,Yet triumphantIn this thought:There is nothing more to lose.
Gaunt,
Stripped of leaves,
Death-defiant,
Yet triumphant
In this thought:
There is nothing more to lose.
In dreamsI have been swept through spaceOn a star-hung swing,Like a silkwormUpheld by a slender strand,Tossed about in the gale.
In dreamsI have been swept through spaceOn a star-hung swing,Like a silkwormUpheld by a slender strand,Tossed about in the gale.
In dreamsI have been swept through spaceOn a star-hung swing,Like a silkwormUpheld by a slender strand,Tossed about in the gale.
In dreams
I have been swept through space
On a star-hung swing,
Like a silkworm
Upheld by a slender strand,
Tossed about in the gale.
His life was well orderedAnd monotonously cleanAs an orchard with white-washed trees.But he felt not the coolOf the sun-splotched woodsNor the mad blue brillianceOf the sea.
His life was well orderedAnd monotonously cleanAs an orchard with white-washed trees.But he felt not the coolOf the sun-splotched woodsNor the mad blue brillianceOf the sea.
His life was well orderedAnd monotonously cleanAs an orchard with white-washed trees.But he felt not the coolOf the sun-splotched woodsNor the mad blue brillianceOf the sea.
His life was well ordered
And monotonously clean
As an orchard with white-washed trees.
But he felt not the cool
Of the sun-splotched woods
Nor the mad blue brilliance
Of the sea.
I see green fieldsIn the first flush of the spring,And little children playing,Clustered as patches of white flowers.
I see green fieldsIn the first flush of the spring,And little children playing,Clustered as patches of white flowers.
I see green fieldsIn the first flush of the spring,And little children playing,Clustered as patches of white flowers.
I see green fields
In the first flush of the spring,
And little children playing,
Clustered as patches of white flowers.